


Piece by Piece

by Ultirex



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9448820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultirex/pseuds/Ultirex
Summary: In hindsight, Rodimus should have realized that his flirting with Drift wasn’t exactly platonic.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SchrodingersOctopus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SchrodingersOctopus/gifts).



The entire chain of events began with Drift’s hands.

Rodimus found himself mesmerized by the erratic movements of Drift’s digit as it etched out a pattern on the surface of the table; one known only to Drift, though not even the artist himself seemed to be consciously aware of his actions. 

Drift did, however, notice the entrancing effect that it had on his companion.

“Rodimus?” he asked, his movements stilling with the inquiry. “Have you been listening?”

“Hm?” Caught in the midst of his reverie, Rodimus attempted to dismiss it with a laugh and a wave of the hand that wasn’t currently propping up his chin. “Of course. You’ve just been doing that the entire time, and it’s, you know, a little distracting.”

Drift blinked. “Doing what?”

Rodimus reached out, tapping Drift’s digit with one of his own. “You’ve been - drawing, I guess? Practically the entire time we’ve been here.” Rodimus leaned back then, reclining against the booth. “And people say that _I’m_ a compulsive doodler.” He considered his words for a moment, then chuckled rather impishly. “Hah. Doodler.”

“Huh.” Drift looked down, for the first time noticing the faint scratch marks that now marred the table. The pattern looked completely nonsensical. “You’re not the first person to point that out to me, actually. I guess I just never really noticed - notice, even.”

“Man, Swerve’s gonna be _pissed_ if he sees this. Good thing I can always pull rank if he tries something,” Rodimus said with a cheeky grin.

“I doubt Magnus would approve of you using your position of power like that,” Drift admonished, but he couldn’t help but smile nonetheless. Rodimus practically radiated mischief, and it was contagious. 

“Well, it’s a good thing that Mags isn’t supposed to know about this place, right? It’ll just be our little secret.”

Drift sent a silent prayer heavenward that the crew be safe from the shenanigans of its own captain and asked, “So you’ve just been staring at my hands this entire time, then?”

Rodimus shrugged, guilty and unapologetic. “Hey, it’s called multitasking, and I happen to be _great_ at it. Besides, you’ve got some nice hands. Like, on a scale from one to ten, I’d rank them as ‘good enough for Ratchet to steal.’ So really, I’m doing you - and them - a favor by giving them a little appreciation.”

“I think that might just be the strangest compliment I’ve ever received.”

“Well, if you’d rather I look at your face, I’m game.” Rodimus did just that, leaning forward once more and looking Drift in the optics. “You’re not exactly bad looking. Actually - no, you know what? Not just that. I’d say that you’re pretty damn handsome. And attractive.”

“That’s...” Drift paused, his digit once again resuming it’s aimless wandering, this time applying more pressure. He cleared his intake and said, “That’s really nice of you, Rodimus. Thank you.”

“Hm.” Rodimus frowned slightly, his attention flickering towards Drift’s restless hands once more before returning to his almost sheepish expression. “You sound like you don’t get that a lot which is...weird. I really mean it, you know.”

Drift’s optics remained cast downwards as he spoke. “I have, but - well, let’s just say it sounds a little different coming from you and leave it at that.”

“Yeah. Sure thing,” Rodimus said, relenting. He began nursing his pint of engex once more, surveying the bar scene around him as he did so. A silence had settled between them, and he suddenly found himself captivated by the various patrons around them.

“You’re not so bad looking yourself, hot shot,” Drift suddenly said, managing a small smile. “So that’s quite a compliment, coming from you.”

Rodimus immediately snapped back to attention, offering Drift a grin that dispelled any lingering discomfort. “Imagine how good we’d look together. We’d be the hottest couple on the _Lost Light_ \- Cybertron, even.”

Drift laughed, his digits finally halting their restless wandering. “Are you asking me out, Rodimus?”

“Well, we are sitting alone together in a bar,” Rodimus said as he leaned in, his voice low and suggestive. “I’d say this could already pass as a date.”

“Can’t believe you asked me out and I didn’t even know it,” Drift said, reciprocating the gesture. He could only imagine how they must’ve looked, huddled together in the midst of all the commotion that was a typical night at Swerve’s. “You’re just that smooth, Rodimus Prime.”

Rodimus looked on the verge of a fit of laughter, which undermined his attempt at coming across as suave as he purred, “What do you say we make this date a little more interesting and take things back to my habsuite?”

Drift watched as Rodimus’ lower lip quivered in a struggle to maintain that seductive smirk of his before they both erupted into laughter, catching the attention of a few nearby patrons. Rodimus practically collapsed on the table, his vents whirring as they attempted to intake enough air, while Drift wiped a drop of coolant from his optic and shot an apologetic glance at Cyclonus, who had directed a rather pointed look at them.

“You’re ridiculous,” Drift managed to say between shaky ventilations. “But I’m sure you already know that.”

“I pride myself on being an experience,” Rodimus said, proudly pounding his flame-adorned chassis with a fist. “Come on, at least I’m never boring.”

“True,” Drift agreed. “I never quite know what to expect when I’m with you.”

“Hot and unpredictable,” Rodimus mused as he swirled his engex theatrically, inspiring another wave of laughter from his companion, “I’ve got it all.”

Drift rolled his optics as if in exasperation, but his smile belied any ill-feelings. “I sure am lucky to have you as a best friend.” 

“You know it, buddy.” Rodimus downed the last of his engex before triumphantly slamming his glass down on the table. “Oho, man. I just don’t get it, Drift like - how do you do it? Drink that watered down stuff.”

“There are perks to being sober, you know,” Drift said after considering his own drink. “Like getting to watch you make a fool of yourself after one too many shots,” he teased, to which Rodimus raised his empty glass.

“You’re right about that. And speaking of which - Swerve! Another round! The night is still young.”

Drift reached out and gave Rodimus’ free hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll make sure you get back to your habsuite tonight, hot shot.”

Rodimus felt a pleasant warmth in his tank at the feeling of Drift’s hand over his own, but chose to simply offer Drift a wink and a sultry comment about Drift taking him to his berth.

__________________________________________________

“Alright, teacher,” Rodimus said, presenting both of his hands. “Lesson one. Everything I need to know about chirolinguistics.”

“Let’s start with the basics, first,” Drift advised, taking Rodimus’ hands in his own. He took a moment to become acquainted with them, mapping out every chip, joint, and crevice. It struck him, then, how unfamiliar this territory was, but he didn’t dwell on it. “Chirolinguistics is just as complex as any spoken language. It takes time and discipline to master it.”

“Yeah,” Rodimus said dismissively. “But you _are_ a master, right? So I’m learning from the best.”

“You might be putting a little too much faith in my abilities.”

“You see, Drift, _that’s_ the problem,” Rodimus suddenly chided. “You’re always so modest about these things. Be confident! _Own_ it.”

There was a conviction in Rodimus’ optics that was entrancing in its intensity, and Drift steeled himself as he replied, “I just want to be honest about what you’re getting. And I would like to remind you that chirolinguistics isn’t just something you should pick up on a whim. You have to dedicate yourself to it.”

“Hey, you have my word,” Rodimus said. He chose then to focus on the weight of Drift’s hands in his own, the way Drift’s digits seemed to explore the landscape of his palms with an insatiable curiosity. He didn’t find the sensation unpleasant; on the contrary, it sent small jolts of charge crackling along his circuitry, ones that relayed a sense of excitement. “I promise I’ll be a student worthy of your time. So,” he said, offering Drift a smile, “shall we start?”

“We shall,” Drift agreed, readjusting his grip on Rodimus’ hands. “Let’s start with you, then. What can you tell me about chirolinguistics?”

“Speaking with your hands,” Rodimus responded. “That’s how you do it. It’s a special language based on - it’s how you touch the other person, right?”

“Correct. Chirolinguistics is all about contact. What nervecircuit you stimulate, with what digit, how much pressure you apply; all those factor in to how you communicate. It’s really quite intricate and sadly that seems to deter a lot of people from learning it.” Drift’s hands tensed for a moment before relaxing once more. “But I have an eager student willing to learn, and that’s what matters.”

“You’re always going on about this sort of thing,” Rodimus said. “So, y’know, I figured it might be good to learn a thing or two about it.”

Drift’s tone carried a teasing lilt as he asked, “Are you sure you’re not just using this as an excuse to hold my hand?” 

Rodimus grinned, and the lighting in his office made it look as if his optics were twinkling. “Oh no, you caught me. No, but - really, it’d be a good thing to learn, you know? Being multilingual is a very captain-y quality, don’t you think?”

“I suppose it is. But I didn’t know you really cared for fitting someone else’s image of a captain.”

“I’m full of surprises, remember? But come on, let’s get started. Otherwise I’ll think that _you’re_ just using this as an excuse to hold my hand.”

“Way to turn things around on me,” Drift said with a laugh. “Okay then, hot shot, let’s start by going over some of the pressure points and the different meanings they can convey.”

Rodimus visibly slumped as Drift gave that preamble. “That...sounds a little dull. Language is supposed to be fun, right? Teach me the _good_ stuff.” 

Drift frowned. “And what would that be? Not that you can just jump into things without having a foundation to build them on, you know.”

“Please Drift, I’ve got this. Have some faith,” Rodimus said as he interlaced his digits with Drift’s. “Just teach me all the good pickup lines.”

“I should have known,” Drift muttered, though upon seeing how eager Rodimus was he couldn’t help but smile. “So you really did just come here to woo someone.”

“C’mon, you’ve gotta admit that chirolinguistics is perfect for this sort of thing. Like, look right here.” Rodimus pressed their palms together, noticing then how rough and worn Drift’s hands felt in his own. “We’re already holding hands - and yeah, right now? That’s exactly what we’re doing. I won’t even try to deny it. So why not spice things up with a little handsy come-on? Wouldn’t that just sweep you off your feet? Me, whispering sweet nothings to you...with my hands.”

Drift raised an optic ridge and said, his vocals laced with both skepticism and amusement, “Ok. I’ll bite. You make an interesting argument. But how exactly do you think that chirolinguistic flirtation will help you to better serve as captain?”

Rodimus got _that look_ \- the one that always made a resurgence whenever he was deeply contemplating some idea; usually a rather ludicrous one, such as this. A corner of his mouth downturned in a frown of sorts, his optics looking almost glossy as his processor went scavenging for some vestige of coherent thought. Were their hands not currently occupied simply holding each other, Drift knew that Rodimus would’ve been lazily scratching the side of his helm. 

Finally, Rodimus said, “Drift, you’ve gotta think outside of the box with this sort of thing. Use a little creativity and you’ll see that the possibilities are endless. Like, consider this: the subtle beauty to it all, and how it can be used in, uh...diplomatic situations.”

Drift stifled a laugh. “Go on.”

“Good. I will. You see...” Rodimus paused, the plating of his brow furrowing slightly in thought. “We’re trying to negotiate with some colonists over supplies, right? And they’re being awfully stingy because, you know, the whole NAIL bias thing. Don’t even like a good old, ragtag crew of Autobots like us. But you just throw in a little hand-schmoozing, right? And _bam!_ They’re so wowed by my irresistible Rodimus Charm that they not only give us what we want, but throw in a free month’s supply of engex as well. And tell us that they have a completely different view of the Autobots now. An entirely different worldview, even.”

After Rodimus finished his explanation and looked at Drift with a smile that spoke volumes about his faith in his own plan, Drift couldn’t help the laughter that finally escaped him. “I’ll never stop being amazed by your ability to come up with these elaborate fantasies.”

“Well, you know. It’s just-”

“One of your many talents?” Drift supplied, and at that Rodimus also broke out into a fit of laughter.

“I can always count on you, buddy. But, ok, if anything? At least it’ll give us something to do during our meetings with Magnus. You know how he gets.”

“Ah. So while Magnus is on slide seven hundred and forty-six of his presentation on why instating a curfew will improve crew efficiency by eight point four percent, we’ll be flirting with each other. Chirolingually.”

“Exactly.” Rodimus gave Drift’s hands an affirming squeeze, and it came to his attention then that they’d maintained contact with each other the entire time. “Look, we’ll get to survive his speeches, and he’ll be none the wiser. It’s the perfect plan! Now all you’ve gotta do is teach me.”

“Ok, ok. You win,” Drift said, yielding with a grin. “But I’m going to make sure that you actually learn more than just a few cheesy one-liners.”

Rodimus pouted. “The things I do to spend some time with you.”

Drift stimulated a nervecircuit on Rodimus’ palm using his third digit. “Aw, I knew you just wanted to hold my hand.”

__________________________________________________

“You seem to be enamored with my hands,” Drift commented, his optics remaining fixed on the datapad in front of him.

“Huh?” Rodimus blinked as he was roused from his thoughts. His processor slowly attempted to piece together whatever it was he had done to inspire such a remark in the time that he’d been in a daze. Coming up blank, he put on a grin that he hoped would come across as endearing and asked, “What gives you that impression?”

Drift looked up from his work then, regarded Rodimus with a knowing look, then reached over and tweaked his chevron. Rodimus jolted in his seat, instantly alert.

“Works every time,” Drift said. There was just enough amusement behind his words that Rodimus forgave the rather smug expression accompanying them. “I appreciate the flattery, but you’re not going to get anything done if you just stare at my hands the entire time. Which seems to be a recurring thing, lately.”

Rodimus rubbed the back of his helm and looked off to the side, focusing instead on one of the garish pink walls. “It wasn’t on purpose this time, I promise. ...Wait, no - that sounds worse, doesn’t it?”

“I’ll choose to take it as a compliment,” Drift said. He set down the stylus he was holding and reached over to his uncharacteristically out of it companion, taking his hand. “Hey, it’s ok. I know focusing on paperwork isn’t exactly one of your strengths. But I notice you’ve been doing that a lot, lately. Ever since that time in Swerve’s. _Especially_ since we started our lessons.” He offered a playful smile. “Chirolinguistics really having that much of an impact on you?” 

“I, guess so?” Rodimus fixed his gaze on Drift’s hand in his own, relishing in the warmth of it and how the weight of it was beginning to feel familiar. “Yeah, that’s it. I’ve just had them on my mind, you know? And, look - it’s not like I really have a choice. You’re kind of a hardass when it comes to teaching.”

“Good. I hope you’re seeing chirolingual stimulation patterns when you recharge. It means I’m doing my job right.”

“I can’t believe you’re enjoying my suffering like this.”

Drift laughed; a pleasant sound that resonated in Rodimus’ audials. “It’s for a good cause. But, really,” he said, removing his hand and fetching his abandoned datapad once more, “we need to get through these documents. Otherwise Magnus will lecture us about the responsibilities of being in command. Again.” 

“Always a buzzkill,” Rodimus said with a sigh, picking up his stylus. The absence of contact had left him with a sort of longing, and he gave his stylus an agitated twirl as he grabbed the next datapad from his stack. “...You think we might have time for a lesson? After we get all this done, I mean.”

Drift felt a surge of pride at the display of diligence. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

__________________________________________________

_“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for everyone else.”_

Drift’s words hung heavily in the air. The weight of them was almost palpable, to the point where Rodimus felt his intake constrict and his spark stutter. It pulsed in staccato bursts, as if heralding a sudden collapse as the reality of Drift’s proposal sunk in.

It wasn’t just the devastation right outside his door - splatters of energon, exposed circuitry from where walls lining the corridors had been impacted and punctured, remnants of limbs and life itself that been lost in the fray of Overlord’s attack - nor the destruction brought upon his office by his own hand in a fit of frustration directed at his own failures. 

The crew would want justice. As captain, he would have no choice but to deliver it. 

“You’ll have to - I’ll have to punish you,” Rodimus murmured. At some point during their conversation he had slumped to the floor, and he cradled his knees to his chest. “You know how serious this is. They won’t accept you just, just being locked up, or - I mean, you realize what this means, right? I’ll have to exile you. Take your badge.”

Drift took a seat next to him and ex-vented. “I know. I already considered all the consequences before I came to talk to you.”

“But did you really?” Rodimus suddenly snapped, and though his tone was harsh his optics told a different story. _Desperation,_ Drift thought. “This is more than you just having to leave the ship! You’ll be stripped of _everything:_ your status as an Autobot, your reputation, everything you’ve worked to build up! Gone. Because of my stupid mistake.”

“Rodimus,” Drift said. He situated himself so that he was facing Rodimus and took Rodimus’ hands in his own. “I’ve made up my mind. We don’t have a choice here, and...I’ll deal with the consequences as they come.” 

He interlaced their digits and stimulated a series of nervecircuits in succession, each action slow and deliberate. He watched as Rodimus attempted to translate, the Prime’s tumultuous state of mind compounding with his rudimentary chirolingual understanding. 

“I’m,” Rodimus began, pausing as comprehension dawned on him, “no. Things won’t just ‘be ok.‘ You _know_ that. Come on, Drift. Who do you think you’re fooling here? You’re better with words than I am. And yet you can’t even _say_ it.”

Drift was silent, but Rodimus saw the doubt in Drift’s optics and how it contradicted the promise he’d conveyed with his hands.

“I need you, Drift,” Rodimus continued. “I know I don’t always act like it, but...having you here, in command with me? It means a lot to me.”

“This quest needs _you,_ Rodimus. It doesn’t need me,” Drift asserted. Then, offering a small smile, he added, “You’ll have Magnus. He’ll keep you out of trouble. You can trust his judgment.”

“Yeah, but...” Rodimus’ protest died out as he focused on the way Drift’s digits idly stroked his hands. He attempted to discern some sort of meaning behind the touches but came up with nothing. “We’re Rossum’s Trinity, remember? We can’t have that without you.”

Drift’s smile faltered, but his digits continued to languidly caress Rodimus. “I know it won’t be the same. But you’ll manage. I’ve _seen_ it, Rodimus. You just need to believe it yourself. Have faith in your capabilities.”

Rodimus let out a humorless laugh. “That’s the thing. I’m not as good at that as everyone seems to think.”

He fell silent, his gaze fixating on their joined hands. Drift had yet to stop his ministrations, and they alleviated some of the arrhythmia that had gripped Rodimus’ spark, helping him to regain some semblance of calm. 

“You’ve made it through a lot worse,” Drift said. “And so have I. And we’ll both make it through this.”

“I can’t believe I’m the one being comforted right now,” Rodimus said, his vocals laced with static. “You’re the one losing everything. Some kind of best friend I am, huh.”

Drift offered no further counsel. Instead, he began to pull away, saying, “We should go. We can’t put this off and keep the crew waiting. They deserve better than that.” 

Rodimus tightened his grip, refusing to relinquish Drift’s hands.

“Rodimus?”

“...I don’t want to let go.”

Drift considered the defeated slump in Rodimus’ shoulders, the way Rodimus still couldn’t look up and face him head-on. The vulnerable display reminded him of that moment in the medbay after the incident in the oil reservoir, and the sense of resignation that had overtaken Rodmus when faced with the attempted suicide of someone in his care. Drift wondered then just how many had ever seen Rodimus in such a state, been permitted a glimpse past his usual bravado.

“Just promise me this,” Rodimus said, his voice little more than a whisper. He lifted his right hand, still clasped in Drift’s, and placed it over Drift’s sparkchamber. “Don’t pull something like that again.”

The memory of his Great Sword piercing his spark was all too vivid. He wondered if Rodimus noticed the minute tremor in his hands as he said, “I promise.”

__________________________________________________

He wasn’t much for organization. Datapads containing important documents - most of which were relayed to him from Magnus, usually equipped with some longwinded title that confused Rodimus more often than it elucidated the contents within - were simply tossed haphazardly in a heap on his desk. Not even the graffiti marring the surface of said desk appeared to have any sort of coherence; rather, at a glance, it resembled more of a surreal blend of lines and curves that filled the space without any foreseeable goal in mind. When he would examine his own work, his still-warm laser scalpel in hand, Rodimus would find himself reminiscing about Drift’s own wayward artistry in Swerve’s.

And then, as always, his thoughts would be directed towards one of the only objects occupying the neglected drawers of his desk. Apart from the rare personal effect that he kept stashed away, used writing implements that he never quite could dispose of, and the half-eaten pack of rust sticks that Rung had gifted him, they remained empty; save for the insignia housed within the bottom drawer, which he would reach for in these quieter moments of reflection. 

After retrieving Drift’s badge from what had become its new home, Rodimus would run a digit over each individual line and groove, committing them to memory. For even though it bore the same design as the badge emblazoned on his own chest, it was still distinctly _Drift’s._ Each extraneous mark and chip of paint told of experiences unique to Drift alone; for each embellishment, he found himself wishing that he had bothered to ask Drift the story behind it when he had the chance. 

And when something would demand his attention, whether it be a call from Magnus or Megatron, an alarm originating from Brainstorm’s workshop, or simply an awareness of the passage of time, Rodimus would once again stash the badge away with lingering thoughts of _what ifs_ plaguing his processor. 

This time it was the latter that compelled him to surface from his melancholic musings. Rodimus tucked the badge away in its usual spot after a check of his chronometer left him feeling the same guilt that always came with idleness. He departed his office to make a round about the ship. It was nearly impossible to make a circuit around the _Lost Light_ without running into at least one crewmember, even during the night cycle, and the company had a way of helping him push aside those unpleasant thoughts solitude cultivated so well. 

As he made his way past a series of habsuites, Rodimus heard jovial laughter echoing down the corridor. Before long Chromedome and Rewind, both a little unsteady on their feet, came into view. Rodimus noted the way they would lean on each other for support, and wondered how much of that was actually from necessity. The resident conjunx endurae had a habit of getting touchy when they thought they were alone, as many crewmembers - Rodimus included - could attest to.

Between fits of giggles, Rewind caught sight of Rodimus walking in their direction and waved with his hand that wasn’t currently intwined with Chromedome’s. 

“Rodimus!” he trilled in greeting. Had he a visible mouth, Rodimus bet he would’ve been beaming. “We missed you at Swerve’s. You have the night shift?”

Rodimus’ attention gravitated towards their joined hands. Rewind’s was practically engulfed by Chromedome’s, but the almost comical difference in size didn’t make the gesture appear any less intimate. His own hand flexed against his thigh then, his digits restlessly drumming against his plating. He recalled the feeling of Drift’s hand in his own, and how the warm weight and worn surface of it had become so familiar during their chirolingual sessions, short-lived as they were. Watching Chromedome and Rewind, with the smaller of the two resting his head against his partner’s hip, Rodimus felt an urge to ask just how long it had taken the two of them to figure out how to fit together so well; with Drift, it had all come so easily. 

“Are you ok? ...Rodimus?” Chromedome asked, his visor and facemask creating a stoic contrast to the concern coloring his voice.

“Hm? Yeah, sorry.” Rodimus forced himself to address them, tearing his gaze away from their hands. “What were you saying?”

Chromedome and Rewind exchanged glances before Rewind said, “Don’t worry about it. Take care, ok? We’ll be seeing you around.” Rewind started to pull Chromedome in the direction of their habsuite. “ _Domey_ here’s had a little too much engex and needs to recharge, else we’ll all be hearing about his aching processor tomorrow.”

“You’re one to talk,” Chromedome retorted, faithfully following his conjunx as he was pulled along. Then, over his shoulder he added, “You should’ve seen Rewind, Rodimus. He was the life of the party!”

Rewind’s ensuing bout of giggles echoed in Rodimus’ audials even after the pair had disappeared from sight. With a resigned sigh Rodimus continued along, his thoughts wandering but seeming to always come back to Drift’s hand in his own. Rewind’s pet name for his conjunx underscored the image like a mantra, and then Rodimus became occupied with memories of silently exchanging sweet talk of his own with Drift. Chirolingual quips punctuated by the occasional _babe_ or _sweetspark_ would keep the two of them captivated while Magnus droned on in the background about various business related to command.

The innocent flirtations had come without any sort of hesitation nor deep reflection as to whether or not they held any meaning apart from a way to kill some time. But as he trudged past the medbay, catching the scent of oil and energon emanating from within, Rodimus felt a phantom tingle in a particular nervecircuit.

 _My love,_ Drift had said with little more than a slight application of pressure, and the idea was surprisingly palatable.

Love. He didn’t find it difficult to ascribe such a notion to his relationship with Drift. They were best friends, and though they lacked the formal declaration and ceremonial gestures that came with the title amica endura, he’d never considered what they had to be lesser for it. Those that Rodimus considered loved ones were not particularly numerous, but he would count Drift among them without a doubt. 

The extent to which that rang true had only become even more evident in the months following Drift’s exile.

Rodimus’ wandering eventually took him to Swerve’s, and it struck him then, as he listened to Ten greet him with the one word that comprised the former legislator’s vocabulary, how infrequent his visits to the bar had become. He simply acknowledged Ten with a nod as he entered and surveyed the area. True to Chromedome’s testimonial, it appeared that a party had indeed taken place earlier in the evening. Stools were tipped over, glasses - some of which had barely survived the night intact - littered the tables, and the occasional splash of brightly-colored engex painted the floor and even walls. Trailcutter, Rodimus figured, was responsible for that one. 

Apart from Swerve, who was currently occupied behind the counter, the sole remaining occupant of the bar was Tailgate. The minibot, freshly repaired, was gleefully chattering away, surely still buzzing with merriment after the festivities that had taken place. As Rodimus approached the counter, he heard Cyclonus’ name mentioned among the bubbly string of words. 

“Rodimus!” Tailgate piped, pausing his tipsy monologue. “You missed the party. You busy doing captain-y things?” He took another sip from his curly straw, then added, “Or co-captain-y, I guess. I’m still getting used to this whole thing.”

“You and me both,” Rodimus said, taking a seat next to him. “Good to see you’re feeling better, Tailgate. We were all worried about you. Especially Cyclonus. But I’m guessing you don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Hah!” Swerve suddenly interjected, his face split in a wide grin. “Like Cyclonus is good about expressing those sorts of things. He’s not exactly the cuddliest guy on the ship, if you haven’t noticed.” 

“Hey, give him some credit!” Tailgate jabbed an accusing digit at the bartender while his other hand remained curled around his engex. “Cyclonus has plenty of ways of showing he cares. He’s a lot more caring than people give him credit for.”

Swerve held up his hands as if in surrender, but continued grinning nonetheless.

“You two have gotten a lot closer, huh,” Rodimus said, accepting the drink that Swerve slid his way. It was tiny - pathetic, really - but he didn’t bother commenting on it, already anticipating the _’it’s free!’_ that he would get in response. “It’s good. I’m glad. Everyone deserves to have someone like that.”

Tailgate puffed out his chestplate at the encouragement. “What about you, Rodimus? You’ve gotta have a special someone too, right?”

Rodimus put on his usual cocksure smile. “I’m captain. This entire crew is my special someone.” He rubbed his palm with a digit, recalling the numbers that had been etched there. The hollowness of his words left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Or, _co_ -captain, I guess, but my point still stands. See? We’re both still learning.” 

“Cheers to that!” Tailgate chimed, holding up his drink.

Rodimus chuckled as he clinked their glasses together. “That really something to toast to?”

“It’s to common ground,” Tailgate said. “I don’t feel like we’ve really gotten the chance to hang out much, you know? So it’s nice to have these things we can share.” Tailgate gave a sagely nod in approval of his own words. 

“Huh. That’s an interesting way of looking at it,” Rodimus mused. He took the momentary lapse in conversation to down his drink, resisting the urge to stick out his glossa as the rather subpar-tasting engex slithered down his intake. The quality certainly matched the lack of price, but he decided against sharing such a comment with Swerve. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. The most time we probably spent one-on-one was back during the whole mess with Tyrest.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tailgate said, giving Rodimus‘ hand a gentle pat. “You’re busy. And a lot of your free time was spent with Drift - not that there’s anything wrong with that! That’s kind of how me and Cyclonus are, and...” He trailed off, his processor finally catching up with his words. “Oh, um...sorry. You probably don’t want that brought up.” Tailgate looked downwards, and solemnly took another sip. 

Rodimus found it miraculous that he maintained his confident veneer; truly an art that he’d mastered over the years. “It’s fine. Really, it’s - it’s fine. Good. I’m good. And, hey, you’re right. But I guess that just means I’ll have more time to spend with all of you now.”

Tailgate’s optics practically gleamed beneath his visor. “I like the sound of that. And, Rodimus - if you ever want to practice chirolinguistics with someone, I can always be your partner. I...know you were working with Drift on that, and I’ve been learning, too. But only if you want to, I mean.”

“Thanks, Tailgate. I’ll - I’ll definitely think about it.”

Rodimus declined Swerve’s offer for another drink, choosing instead to dismiss himself. Rodimus offered Ten a half-smile as he left the bar, receiving an enthusiastic wave in return. 

He found himself thinking about Tailgate and Cyclonus as he worked his way back towards his habsuite. The concept of them being roommates had always struck him as ridiculous - dangerous, even, when Tailgate had voiced his desire to become a Decepticon after listening to Cyclonus’ account of events - but Rodimus had to admit that the two were making it work somehow. He’d stopped by the medbay a few times during Tailgate’s recovery to discuss matters with Ratchet, and each visit Cyclonus had been there, dutifully checking on Tailgate’s progress or silently standing watch by the minibot’s berth. 

The two had been an unlikely pair, yet Rodimus wouldn’t call that display of devotion anything but love.

There it was again. Love. The word dominated the forefront of his thoughts as he keyed in his passcode to his habsuite and slipped inside. The room, currently dark - and depressingly so - was nearly double the size of the suites inhabited by the rest of the crew; though it contained only a single berth as opposed to the two found in the rooms belonging to those outside of command. As Rodimus took a seat on his berth, he couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to come home to someone at the end of the day. Would Tailgate feel a sense of familiar comfort when he retired to his quarters that night and found Cyclonus there? Did recharge come easier for someone like Rewind who, each night, had the privilege of spending his most vulnerable moments alongside the one he’d devoted his spark to?

Rodimus’ berth felt unusually cold as he lay down to recharge. He imagined Drift curled up at his side, a hand resting over his spark; and all the while the word _love_ lingered in his last coherent thoughts like the steady beat of a drum.

__________________________________________________

When all had been said and done, he couldn’t quite figure out where to take things next.

The two sat side-by-side in the empty room of their fortress, their knees just far apart enough to avoid brushing against each other. Rodimus lamented the lack of contact as he wondered how exactly to go about _taking things back to the way they were._

He only realized how inadequate those words were once he finally registered the unfulfilled feeling that had settled in his tank. 

“Look, Drift,” Rodimus began as he reoriented himself so that they were facing each other. “I - well, I told you I was bad with words, didn’t I? Not that you didn’t already know that, but...Ok. Let me just, start over?” He rubbed the back of his helm, the gesture uncharacteristically sheepish. 

“I’m listening, Rodimus,” Drift murmured. His expression was soft, not guarded as it had been when Rodimus had entered the room, and it allowed Rodimus to find some semblance of stable footing.

“Thank you. I...I know you don’t exactly owe me that much, but I appreciate it.” Rodimus paused, taking a deep ventilation that was still noticeably shaky. “I said I wanted to have what we had before, and I do! I do. I mean, you’re my best friend. And, what we had was - well, honestly it was one of the best things I had going on on this quest. I mean that.”

When he hesitated, Drift nodded and said, “Go on. Whatever you need to say, I’m listening.”

Rodimus cleared his intake. “Thanks. Yeah, I...guess I should hurry this up. Not like we have all the time in the world, huh.” 

“Don’t worry about that. Let’s just focus on the here and now, ok? And right now it’s just you and me.”

“Yeah. Right. Ok. Um...wait. Let me start over. I - I meant it when I said I don’t trust myself with words, so can we just...” Rodimus held out his hands in invitation, which Drift accepted with a smile. “Thanks. Oooh, boy. Let’s hope I don’t mess this up.”

He knew his hands had begun to tremble and he tried to will some steadiness back into them. When that failed, he simply hoped that a little shakiness wouldn’t obscure the meaning of what he was about to say. 

With a level of precision and care that never came naturally for him, Rodimus stimulated a series of nervecircuits in Drift’s hands. As he did so, he recalled previous chirolingual conversations they’d had - that particular epithet that Drift had tossed around so casually - yet found that his current situation felt more foreign than familiar, regardless of the way it echoed certain moments from the past.

For there was a fundamental difference between a flirtatious back-and-forth and an actual declaration of feelings beyond that. 

_I love you._

Drift’s hands remained still in Rodimus’. In the ensuing silence, Rodimus kept his optics cast downwards and listened to the gentle whirr of their vents. He was still - though his spark pulsated and flared restlessly within its casing - and simply waited for something, anything; a rejection, he presumed, and knowing that he almost wished he could simply remain in this limbo forever.

“How long have you felt this way?” Drift asked. His voice was gentle, but betrayed nothing about the direction his question was going. 

“That’s the thing. I don’t even really know.” Rodimus looked up then, meeting Drift’s gaze. “A long time? I just - I don’t really know. I feel like it happened a while before I actually realized it. I mean, I’ve loved you for a long time, Drift. Even though I’ve been lousy at showing it. You’re my best friend, you know? But, I guess...I guess it wasn’t until recently that I realized I loved you in - in _that_ way. As more than a friend.”

He felt suspended in that moment; not quite a freefall, but an uncomfortable sort of vertigo that left him scrambling for purchase, yearning to find the sense of stability and comfort that he’d briefly felt restored after his apology. Yet he’d successfully overturned any sort of progress with that confession, leaving him teetering on a precipice.

It would be up to Drift’s response to either push him forward or pull him back.

“Sorry,” Rodimus murmured. Then, with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his optics, he said, “Wow. I can’t believe I already owe you another apology. Must be a new record.”

“Hey.” Drift extricated one of his hands and used it to cup Rodimus’ cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I appreciate you telling me this. All of it. And, Rodimus...” He trailed off, and Rodimus noticed the way Drift worried his bottom lip with his pointed denta. “Oh man. I’m supposed to be the speech writer here. But, maybe this would be better...”

With his hand still clasped in Rodimus’, Drift mapped out that same pattern Rodimus had. Rodimus’ hand felt warm and familiar as he did so; like home.

“I guess it’s my turn, then,” Drift said when Rodimus was only capable of responding with a flash in his optics - relief? happiness? a little of both, Drift presumed - and a flick of his spoiler; stunned into silence, for once. “I’ve been hiding a lot. It’s - tough, when you already have something good and don’t want to do something to lose it. I’ll, um. Have to admit that you gave me some pretty mixed signals for the longest time. It made it a little difficult to come to terms with things.”

Recognition dawned on Rodimus then, and his free hand twitched as he resisted the urge to drag it down his face in exasperation at his own lack of consideration. “Oh god. All that flirting I did with you. I’m so sorry, Drift. I didn’t mean to mess with you or anything. Honestly, I - I think it was a lot more genuine than I ever realized.”

Drift arched a brow. “So you really did mean it when you called me ‘sweetspark with the perkiest aft to be saved by the Reintegration Act?’”

There was a dull thud as Rodimus’ palm really did connect with his forehead. “Of course you remembered that one.”

“It was creative,” Drift said with a grin. “I should’ve known you’d manage to put something like that together with your interest in rather _colorful_ vocabulary.”

“Ok, ok. You got me. Maybe I _did_ have some ulterior motives when I asked you to teach me how to flirt chirolingually. I just didn’t know it.”

Drift stroked Rodimus’ cheek. “I knew you just wanted an excuse to hold my hand.”

Rodimus pouted, and it roused a sense of nostalgia in Drift. “Haha. Laugh all you want.”

“I’m not,” Drift assured him, though he gave Rodimus’ chevon a playful pinch. “I actually think it’s cute.”

“You know what’s really cute?” Rodimus said, offering Drift a grin of his own. “The fact that we’ve been holding hands and flirting with each other for the longest time and neither of us thought it meant anything. Like, that was just normal, platonic, ‘two-guys-being-best-friends-and-nothing-else’ behavior.”

“Well, when you put it that way, it does sound pretty ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous. _We’re_ ridiculous. And I kind of love that about us.”

“Us,” Drift repeated. “I like it. But I guess this means we can’t just go back to the way things were, huh.”

“No,” Rodimus agreed. “I want us to have something better. To fix the problems that we had before. Have the two of us as equals. ”

Drift leaned in and rested his helm against Rodimus’. “We’ve got a few hours. That gives us enough time to start fixing things, I’d say.”

Rodimus felt his faceplating heat up at the sudden proximity. “Got any ideas?”

“A few, if you’re ok with that.”

“Drift, we’ve been practically dating the entire time we’ve been on this journey. I’ll take anything you give me.” 

“Good,” Drift said, and without any further preamble he pressed his lips against Rodimus’.

__________________________________________________

“Hold still.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing.”

“No, you keep fidgeting with that doofy look on your face.”

 _“Doofy?_ Seriously? I can’t believe you would call my charming smile doofy, of all things. And after I poured out my heart and soul to you.”

“I’m only being honest with you,” Drift said with a laugh as he continued to apply paint to Rodimus’ chassis with a steady hand. “I’ll admit, I’m going to miss the whole flame motif you had going on. It was so quintessentially _you.”_

“I’m an eternal flame, babe,” Rodimus replied with a cheeky grin. “No paint job is gonna change that.”

“‘Babe?’” Drift asked as he touched up the areas around Rodimus’ Autobot insignia.

“Oh, come on. Don’t act surprised. We’ve been calling each other that sort of thing for ages.”

“True, but it’s a little different to hear it out loud,” Drift said. He took a moment to examine his artwork with a critical optic, ensuring that the coat was even and smooth. “We’ve kept things very handsy until now.”

“Well, we did survive the DJD. Which means we’ve got a lot more time to work on fixing things. So,” Rodimus said with a shrug, “why the hell not?”

Drift gave him an admonishing look that Rodimus knew would take some getting used to on both ends. “I thought I told you to keep still? ...And there you go, with that _doofy_ look again.”

“I can’t help it, sweetspark,” Rodimus purred, though he did finally sit still. “I just can’t stop thinking about yesterday. And you can’t blame me because _you’re_ the one who kissed me.”

“Didn’t think you’d be so giddy about this,” Drift said, giving Rodimus’ nasal ridge a boop with the handle of his brush. “It’s kind of cute.”

Rodimus got that look in his optics that was always a prelude to mischief. “You know what would be cuter? If you kissed me again.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Drift said before he leaned in as if to comply. But, as Rodimus eagerly came forward to meet him, Drift raised his brush and left a streak of purple paint on Rodmus’ cheek. 

Rodimus pulled back, looking aghast, his lips still parted and his optics wide. “You - I can’t believe you’d play me like that. Just, _wow._ Love you too, Drift.”

“Sit still and maybe I’ll reward you with one,” Drift said as he carefully wiped away the wet paint with a cloth. 

“Ok, ok. Whatever you say,” Rodimus said in resignation, but he made no further complaints as he simply watched and admired the precision and care with which Drift’s hands went about their task. 

He wouldn’t need to make up any excuses to hold them later.


End file.
